


Moments From Your Doorway

by PsychicPineapple



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Pizza Place, Fluff, M/M, Minor Allison Argent/Scott McCall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 12:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1005189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicPineapple/pseuds/PsychicPineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is a pizza delivery guy. Stiles is a regular customer. </p><p>*<br/><i>‘Pizza!’ Stiles’ face was alight with ecstasy as he wrenched the door open. </i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Derek arched a brow as he carefully handed over the boxes, stacked three high. ‘It’s just pizza, not the second coming.’</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments From Your Doorway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [finnicko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnicko/gifts).



> Hey! Time for another one of my hastily written, cheesy (ha! See what I did there? Pizza pun!) fics to distract me from my stagnating long!fic. This is for Katie, because she requested fic with Derek as a pizza delivery guy. I'm fairly certain this is far, far from the fic she had in mind, but this is what I wrote so suck it, Katie!
> 
> [Title from this poem.](http://hellopoetry.com/poem/angel-face-sunshine/)
> 
> This is unbetad, so please point out any glaring errors and I'll tend to them asap. Comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Enjoy!

The bell above the door tinkled merrily as Derek shouldered his way into Avena’s Pizzeria. His senses were immediately assaulted by a cacophony of smells and sounds that, while familiar, were always a little startling. The whole store smelled of melting mozzarella, tangy tomato paste, spicy pepperoni and the warm, yeasty fragrance of rising dough. He could hear the low, constant hum of the industrial oven, and rising over it was the eponymous Avena – Pia Avena, pizza maker, shop owner – shouting orders, chatting with customers, singing along to the top forties radio station. Derek didn’t know if he’d ever seen her be silent for more than a minute at a time.

 

‘Derek!’ She greeted loudly, reaching up to tuck a strand of honey-golden hair into her hairnet. ‘Punctual as always. We just got a delivery called through, can you take it?’ The pizzeria was small and mostly dealt in by-the-slice sales. Their prices were competitive unless you were buying a whole pie, in which case there were plenty of cheaper places in town. As a result, it was pretty unusual for them to get deliveries, and so Pia had never bothered hiring a delivery guy. Instead, she just sent Derek out. There was always someone around to man the counter, and Pia made most of the pizzas herself, so losing Derek for the occasional delivery wasn’t a hardship. For her, anyway.

 

Derek sighed, reaching out to grab the receipt and keying the address into his phone.

 

*

 

Derek had been working for Avena’s Pizzeria for six months. He’d been looking for a nice, easy part time job to supplement what he made in his day job as motorcycle mechanic, and it fit the bill. So what if he had to do the occasional delivery? _Suck it up, Derek_ , he berated himself as he slid out of his car.

 

The delivery was to a fairly nondescript apartment block around where the city began to blend into the suburbs. Someone was leaving through the frosted glass doors, and Derek jogged a few steps to catch the door before it closed. He briskly climbed the stairs to the second floor, and then made his way down the hall, his eyes jumping from door to door until they settled on the right number. Raising his hand he knocked twice, sharp and loud. Several moments later the door swung open to reveal a young man, probably in his early twenties at Derek’s best guess. He had thick, dark hair and friendly brown eyes that shone warmly when he smiled at Derek. ‘Hi!’

 

‘Hey,’ Derek replied, ‘delivery for…’ he squinted down at the receipt. ‘Bilinksi?’

 

The kid blinked at him for a moment, then grinned. ‘Stiles!’ He yelled, turning and walking out of the doorway, ‘pizza’s here!’

 

Derek hovered awkwardly in the empty doorway for a long moment before another guy appeared. He, too, looked to be in his early twenties; he was tall, with short chestnut hair and caramel coloured eyes. He was wearing khakis and a plain grey tee beneath an oversized plaid shirt. He was also looking at Derek expectantly, which is when Derek realized he’d been too busy cataloguing the guy’s features to actually give him his pizza.

 

‘Your name is _Stiles Bilinski_?’ He hoped his tone came across as incredulous and not as flustered as he felt.

 

Stiles’ brow furrowed, his mouth twisting with disdain. ‘What? No!’ He scoffed, ‘that’d be a ridiculous name. It’s Stiles _Stilinski_.’ His face split into a grin at his own hilarity, eyes crinkling as he reached out for the pizza. He smoothly slipped a bill into Derek’s upturned hand. ‘Keep the change!’ He called over his shoulder as he kicked the door shut. Derek stood in the hallway feeling dazed and a little blindsided. _Stiles Stilinski_ , he considered, pocketing the money. A smile crept onto his face.

 

**

 

‘Pizza!’ Stiles’ face was alight with ecstasy as he wrenched the door open.

 

Derek arched a brow as he carefully handed over the boxes, stacked three high. ‘It’s just pizza, not the second coming.’

 

‘Yeah, well,’ he grumbled, pulling cash from his pocket, ‘when you’ve got six hungry, whiny, sweaty dudes in your apartment it might as well be.’ He was slapping money into Derek’s palm when he froze, eyes widening at Derek’s carefully blank expression. ‘Lacrosse! We play lacrosse! It’s not some kind of sweaty gay orgy or anything.’ He looked hilariously panicked, a red flush spreading up his neck, past his moles until it was painting his cheeks.

 

‘Okay,’ Derek said slowly, both eyebrows raised, ‘I believe you.’

 

‘Good.’ Stiles nodded once, firmly. It was then that he realized he was still pressing the money into Derek’s hand, the gesture turning into a bizarre hand-hold, Stiles’ palm warm against Derek’s. ‘Sorry,’ he wrenched his hand back, ‘have a good day, uh,’ he bumped the pizza boxes against the doorframe, almost sending them flying to the floor. ‘Uh, _night_ , have a good night. Bye!’ He all but slammed the door in Derek’s face in his haste to get away.

 

Derek made it three steps before he heard riotous laughter exploding through the door behind him.

 

**

 

The door swung open and Derek’s mouth curled into a frown. Stiles looked _wrecked_. He was dressed in baggy sweats and an oversized Mets sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head. The hair that peeked out from underneath was greasy and matted. His eyes were dull and red-rimmed above heavy dark circles. Derek gaped, ‘Stiles, are you…what happened?’

 

Stiles’ slack mouth turned down in confusion. ‘What?’

 

‘You, you look…’ Derek used his free hand to gesture broadly at Stiles’ haggard appearance.

 

‘Oh, yeah,’ Stiles sighed deeply, scrubbing a hand across his face. Derek noticed there was the tiniest hint of stubble bordering his jaw. ‘GTA five came out yesterday.’

 

‘GTA…’ Derek narrowed his eyes, ‘the _video game_?’

 

‘Yup,’ Stiles nodded. He buried one hand in the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a crumpled bill and some change. ‘I guess I kind of played through the night. Hunger got the better of me though. Gotta say, I’m surprised you guys deliver this early.’ He passed the money to Derek before grabbing the pizza box with both hands.

 

‘It’s six o’clock at night,’ Derek muttered, ‘and you just gave me a five dollar bill, two quarters, and a _button_.’ He looked up to find Stiles blinking at him slowly.

 

‘What _day_ is it?’

 

Derek rolled his eyes so hard his entire head moved. ‘It’s Thursday. You should get some sleep.’

 

‘I will,’ Stiles assured him, ‘I just gotta go stab a bookie.’

 

Derek snorted, amused despite himself. He was turning to leave when Stiles spoke, ‘hey, what’s your name?’

 

Derek opened his mouth to answer, debated internally for a moment, and then decided. ‘Derek.’

 

Stiles nodded and gave him a tired smile. ‘Thanks for giving a damn, Derek. Have a good night.’

 

‘You too,’ Derek said to the closed door.

 

**

 

It was a few weeks later that Derek found himself back outside Stiles’ door with two pizza boxes in hand. He’d been surprised by the little skip in his heartbeat when he read the address, the small smile that had slipped out, unbidden, before he could quash it. He couldn’t deny that something about Stiles just _got_ to him; he found himself thinking of the guy at the strangest times – at the gym, at the movies, when he was elbow deep in a Suzuki’s engine. But the guy hadn’t shown any interest, and he was a customer. It would be totally unprofessional for Derek to make a pass. Didn’t mean he had to look like a slob though, he reasoned as he ran a hand through his hair and straightened his jacket. He knocked, and waited.  

 

Stiles’ roommate answered, though it took Derek a moment to realize that’s who it was under all the paint. The kid was purple, from head to toe. He was wearing a pair of magenta running shorts and nothing else, every visible inch of skin covered in an offensive shade of purple. Even his hair had a purple shine to it beneath the hall lights. When he smiled, his teeth shone out startlingly white in contrast. ‘Oh, hey Derek!’ He said easily, and Derek frowned at the familiarity. ‘Two seconds. Stiles!’ He turned and bellowed into the room beyond the door. ‘Pizza!’

 

The purple guy had barely left the doorway when Stiles barreled into it, and Derek froze.

 

‘Hey!’ Stiles smiled genially, ‘happy Halloween!’

 

Derek’s mouth moved soundlessly for a long moment before his brain caught up. ‘It’s Halloween?’

 

‘No, I dress like this every Thursday.’ Stiles’ tone was sharp, but he was smiling, seeming amused by Derek’s ignorance. Stiles gestured down at himself, ‘what do you think?’

 

Since he’d been invited, Derek took the opportunity to thoroughly inspect Stiles’ costume. Where his roommate had been purple, Stiles was gold. His hair glittered in the light, gold sparkling out from between the thick, dark strands. He was wearing a pair of shimmering shorts that looked obscenely tiny atop his long, slender legs. He was shirtless, and Derek was pleasantly surprised to discover that beneath the plaid and the hoodies and the tees he was remarkably toned. Lean, yes, but sculpted; his abs and pecs were defined but not bulging, and his broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist. Derek could see gold paint matted in a thick trail of hair that led to – and likely beyond – the waistband of his shorts. Even his feet were painted, and his hands – had his fingers always been so long and nimble looking? They must have, Derek supposed, but he had never found them particularly noticeable until now.

 

‘Well?’ Stiles prompted impatiently.

 

Derek floundered for a moment before sputtering, ‘what the hell are you?’

 

‘I’m a Snitch!’ Stiles crowed, throwing his arms wide and grinning at Derek expectantly. ‘From – from Harry Potter?’ His smile began to fade at Derek’s blank look, and then dropped away completely. ‘Dude, tell me you’ve read Harry Potter.’

 

‘I saw one of the movies,’ Derek offered weakly.

 

Stiles narrowed his eyes, ‘which one?’

 

‘Uh,’ Derek rubbed the back of his neck, trying to recall, ‘I think there was a dragon in it?’

 

‘Wow,’ Stiles uttered, his face blank. ‘That’s…wow.’

 

‘What’s your friend dressed as?’ Derek asked, desperately trying to get the heat off of his pitiful grasp of pop culture.

 

‘Scott? He’s a one-eyed-one-horned-flying-purple-people-eater.’

 

‘He’s got one too many eyes,’ Derek tilted his head, ‘not enough horns.’

Stiles rolled his eyes, ‘ha-ha. He’s not done yet. We’re heading to a party.’

 

‘Downtown?’ Derek asked, curious.

 

Stiles just lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. ‘Not sure, but we figure if we start walking we’ll hit one eventually, right? It’s Halloween!’ He paused, giving Derek a once over. ‘You should come.’

 

‘Uh, no. I have to work.’ He knew it sounded like an excuse, but it was the truth. That was how he was going to get through this. Working, and keeping his eyes firmly on Stiles’ face.

 

Stiles shrugged. ‘Okay. Well.’

 

Derek was almost going to lift his hand in a goodbye wave when he realized he was still holding a box full of rapidly cooling pizza. He shook it a little to draw Stiles’ focus. ‘Your pizza?’

 

Stiles frowned. ‘Hmm? Oh! Right, pizza.’ He thrust his hand into his pocket, pulling out a bill and handing it to Derek in exchange for the pizza. ‘Thanks Derek, night.’ He closed the door, leaving Derek looking down at the bill, its edges smudged with gold paint. 

 

**

 

Derek’s stomach dropped as the door swung open; this guy would be the death of him. Stiles was wearing neatly pressed black slacks and a crisp white button down beneath a charcoal waistcoat. The top two buttons of the shirt were undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of collarbone and sprinkling of fine chest hair. Derek was so stunned by Stiles’ outfit that he didn’t register his panicked expression until he began to speak.

 

‘Oh thank god,’ Stiles’ eyes were wide, his hair mussed and sticking out in all directions, ‘I need your help.’ He lifted a hand to hold an already knotted tie up to the hollow of his throat. ‘Tie, or,’ he whisked the tie away, ‘no tie?’

 

Derek opened his mouth to respond, but Stiles tutted impatiently before he could get a word out.

 

‘Here, again,’ he held up the tie, ‘tie?’ He whipped it away, ‘no tie? Or – ooh! I think I have a bowtie somewhere.’ He darted out of the doorway, leaving Derek blinking at the empty space until his brain caught up with the human whirlwind that was Stiles Stilinski.

 

‘Stiles!’

 

‘Yeah?’ Stiles popped back into view, his long fingers working to secure a shiny silver bowtie.

 

‘Your pizza.’

 

‘Oh! Right, sorry.’ He gave Derek a sheepish grin as he pulled a black leather wallet from his back pocket and fished out a bill. ‘I have a date tonight and I’m kind of nervous.’

 

Derek cleared his throat as he handed over the pizza, keeping his eyes down as he worked out Stiles’ change. ‘You’re a little overdressed for a pizza date.’

 

‘Oh, no he’s picking me up on half an hour and taking me to one of those fancy fine-dining places downtown.’ Derek watched as he pulled a slice of pizza from the box and took an enormous bite. ‘I mean, I appreciate the gesture,’ he said around a mouthful, ‘but have you seen the portion sizes in those places? Tiny. Needed to fortify myself.’

 

‘Don’t speak with your mouth full.’ Derek reprimanded, and Stiles smiled sheepishly and made a point of swallowing before replying.

 

‘Sorry, Miss Manners.’ He rotated the hand holding the slice of pizza so he could glance at his watch, and cringed. ‘Crap, I better finish getting ready. Thanks for the pizza, man.’

 

‘No problem,’ Derek nodded. ‘Stiles?’ The door was almost closed and Stiles pulled it wide again to look at Derek inquisitively. ‘No tie. And leave the top two buttons undone. Trust me.’

 

Derek didn’t wait for a response, turning and walking away before he made any more stupid decisions.

 

**

 

The next time Derek made a delivery, it was neither Stiles nor Scott who opened the door.

 

‘Hey,’ the guy said easily, and Derek felt his brow furrow, eyes narrowing in shrewd assessment.

 

‘I have a pizza for Stiles, is he home?’ He knew he sounded terse, hostile, but he couldn’t seem to keep the edge out of his voice.

 

‘Uh, yeah,’ the guy’s mouth had twitched in a frown at Derek’s easy mention of Stiles’ name, and was now watching him carefully. ‘He just slipped into the shower.’

 

There was something about his tone that set Derek’s teeth on edge. An oily quality, coupled with his all-American Abeecrombie-and-Fitch good looks, rubbed Derek the wrong way.

 

‘I’ve got this, though,’ the guy said after a moment, reaching for his wallet. Money having had changed hands, the guy was reaching to close the door when Derek spoke.

 

‘Tell Stiles Derek says ‘hi’.’

 

The guy paused, letting his eyes take a long, meandering look at Derek from head to toe. ‘Yeah,’ he said at length, ‘I’ll be sure to do that.’

 

Somehow, Derek doubted it.

 

He didn’t get a single delivery to Scott and Stiles for over six weeks.

 

*

 

Derek hesitated in front of the door, his fist raised halfway to a knock. He’d spent the last two months alternating between obsessively wondering why Stiles would be trying to avoid him, and telling himself he was being paranoid and trying to banish all thoughts of Stiles from his mind. The former usually won out.

 

Now he was here, he wasn’t even sure why he was hesitating. Or at least that was what he tried to tell himself; on a deeper, brutally truthful level he knew he was worried that instead of Stiles’ smiling face he was going to see the douchebag from last time. Or worse, both of them – Stiles opening the door with a smile that would broaden into a beaming grin when _the guy_ slid up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist as they exchanged nauseatingly casual touches in front of Derek. He grimaced.

 

But he was being ridiculous, and he knew it. This was his last delivery of the night, he just had to get through it and then he could go home. He delved back into that deep, truthful part of his mind and emerged with the bare-bone facts. Stiles was a customer. They’d barely spoken more than a handful of times. Every conversation had taken place through a doorway. Stiles had never expressed an interest in Derek or an attraction to him. Derek knows almost nothing about Stiles, and this ridiculous infatuation is stupid and baseless and sure to be fleeting.

 

These facts piled like heavy stones upon Derek’s shoulders, but they hardened his resolve and in one swift motion he reached out and rapped on the door. There was no answer. He tried again, louder. Nothing. It was late, almost eleven, and he wondered if maybe Stiles had fallen asleep.

 

‘Stiles!’ He waited for a response that never came. ‘Scott?’ He tried hesitantly, and to no avail. He reached into his pocket for his cell; if he called the store, they could call Stiles. He was just about to hit the speed-dial when the stairwell door opened up down the hall. The man that stepped out was young, tall and lanky with scraggly blonde hair. He had a distinctive brown paper bag in one hand and was checking door numbers as he moved towards Derek.

 

‘Yo,’ he greeted as he approached, ‘you live here?’

 

‘No,’ Derek shook his head slightly, ‘I’m making a delivery.’

 

‘Me too, brother,’ the man smiled cheerfully, ‘midnight express.’ He shook the paper bag and the familiar sloshing sound confirmed Derek’s suspicions. ‘He not answering? I’m not surprised. Dude sounded like he was already pretty sauced when he called.’

 

Derek frowned. He glanced between the man and the closed door for a few moments before surrendering with a sigh. ‘How much?’ He used his free hand to pull out his wallet.

 

‘Even twenty for the goods, but tips are always welcome.’ His smile was genial and charming, and made Derek’s scowl deeper. He handed over a twenty.

 

‘Message received,’ the delivery guy laughed, not unkindly, as he set the paper-sheathed bottle atop the pizza box, ‘have a good one.’ And then he wandered back the way he had come, humming softly under his breath.

 

Derek turned back to the door. ‘Stiles!’ He called again, banging the wood with the side of a closed fist. ‘It’s Derek. I have your pizza!’ He paused. ‘And your liquor.’ Derek waited, and sure enough he heard signs of movement beyond the door, muffled thuds and the scratchy slide of socks dragging on carpet. Derek heard the lock click, and watched the handle turn.

 

Stiles looked like crap. It was the GTA marathon all over again, only worse. His eyes were red and puffy, his hair flat on one side and sticking up wildly on the other. One of his cheeks was red and embossed with some kind of pattern, as though he’d spent a long time with his face pressed into a cushion or a comforter. He was back in his sweats and oversized hoodie, but he also had a blanket thrown around his shoulders like shawl, the ends twisted and tucked around his elbows to give him use of his hands. He leaned heavily against the doorframe, blinking slowly as he looked at the pizza like it was an alien artifact.

 

‘Derek,’ he slurred, and the word was accompanied by a pungent waft of alcohol-laced breath, ‘what’re you doing here?’

 

‘You ordered pizza,’ he held the box out up as proof. Stiles eyes latched onto the brown paper bag.

 

‘You brought me booze?’ He sounded incredibly pleased.

 

‘I didn’t bring it, I met the delivery guy,’ he explained with an impatient wave of his hand. ‘Stiles, are you okay?’

 

‘Hmm?’ Stiles’ wide, glassy eyes found their way back to Derek’s face. ‘Derek!’ He gave a lazy grin, ‘what are you doing here? Is that booze?’ He reached for the bottle with grasping hands and Derek hastily pulled it out of his reach.

 

‘How about food first?’

 

Stiles frowned; he couldn’t stretch any closer to the alcohol without letting go of the nice, stable doorframe. He sighed. ‘Sure, okay, yeah.’ But instead of producing money, he simply turned and shuffled back into the apartment. Derek hung his head with a sigh and, after a long minute of internal debate, followed him inside.

 

It was dimly lit inside, the light from the hall casting a soft glow. The apartment was basically what he expected – small and simple. The living room had a two-seater sofa and single armchair, both pointed at modestly sized flat-screen TV. The coffee table seemed to be an old door supported by milk crates. There were movie posters on the walls, mostly B-grade sci-fi and 80’s action hits, which Derek found not surprising in the least. The kitchen, separated from the living room by a breakfast bar, was small but functional. Given how much pizza Scott and Stiles usually ordered, Derek would be surprised if the kitchen got much use at all.

 

His mind stuttered over that last thought, and he turned to where Stiles had dropped gracelessly onto the sofa. ‘Where’s Scott?’

 

‘Out,’ Stiles replied mournfully, ‘with his girlfriend. Probably kissing and being happy and stuff.’ Suddenly he lunged forward, reaching for a bottle that was lying on the coffee table. He found it to be empty, and frowned. ‘I need more booze. Ooh!’ He grinned gleefully at Derek, ‘midnight express!’ He was trying – and mostly failing – to enter the passcode on his phone when Derek decided to intervene.

 

Setting the pizza and bottle on the breakfast bar, he leant forward and plucked the phone from Stiles’ hands. ‘Hey!’ Stiles protested, annoyed. He looked up, and when his eyes lighted on Derek the irritation was replaced with joyful surprise. ‘Derek! What are you doing here?’

 

Derek rolled his eyes. ‘How much have you had to drink?’

 

‘I dunno,’ Stiles shrugged, ‘a bunch.’

 

‘And why, exactly, are you getting plastered on your own in the middle of the week?’

 

Stiles hesitated, then sighed and flopped bonelessly against the back of the sofa. ‘I got dumped today.’

 

Derek shifted uncomfortably. ‘Oh.’

 

‘Yeah. I mean I-’ Stiles cut himself off, squinting up at Derek. ‘Dude, sit down, you’re hurting my neck.’ Stiles reached up, tugging at the sleeves of Derek’s leather jacket until he settled on the couch. ‘Much better,’ Stiles smiled crookedly, turning and resting the side of his head against the back of the sofa so he could look at Derek. He blinked the long, slow blinks of the drunk, lashes brushing against his cheeks on each downward sweep, and Derek was lost.

 

‘So anyway,’ Stiles continued, oblivious to Derek’s distress, ‘I’m not exactly _surprised_ that it happened, it just sucks, you know? We’d only been together for two months or something. And there was a lot of stuff that we didn’t have in common, but there was a lot of stuff we _did_ have in common.’ The last word was broken over a hiccup. ‘You know when I first met him I thought ‘no way’. He reminded me so much of this guy I went to high school with; smart, incredibly hot, but the world’s biggest tool. Seriously. So I see Jeremy – his name was Jeremy,’ he clued Derek in, ‘this guy who looks like the love child of Tommy Hilfiger and J Crew, and thought ‘no way’. But,’ he shrugged one shoulder as if to say _what can you do?_ ‘It kind of worked. Or I thought it was working.’

 

‘Didn’t see it coming, huh?’ Unexpected surprises in his love life? Derek could relate. 

 

‘No,’ Stiles shook his head, ‘but also, yes. I didn’t love him,’ he said the words with careless ease, but hearing them knocked a few of those big stones off of Derek’s shoulders. ‘I think I knew we wouldn’t last, I just thought we’d kind of,’ he circled his hands in a tumbling motion, ‘roll to a stop. But Jeremy pretty much pulled the emergency brake.’ He sighed deeply, letting his eyes drift closed. ‘I hate breakups.’

 

‘Me too,’ Derek agreed, reaching out absent-mindedly to stroke his fingers through the soft hair at Stiles’ temple. A gesture of comfort, he lied to himself. Stiles’ eyes fluttered back open at the touch, confused for a moment until they touched on Derek’s, then they shone with warmth.

 

‘Derek,’ Stiles smiled, his voice soft, and then suddenly frowned. ‘You know he wouldn’t let me order pizza from you guys? He always got it from this fancy wood-fire place.’

 

‘Yeah?’ Derek replied, his voice as quiet as Stiles’, ‘was it good?’

 

‘It was great,’ Stiles admitted easily, ‘way better than yours.’ Derek huffed out a laugh, and Stiles smiled at the sound. ‘But the delivery guy was some college kid.’ His voice was getting softer, slower, as he drifted towards sleep. Derek’s fingers kept moving. ‘He was short, and blond, and,’ he broke off into a yawn, his eyes scrunching up and then staying closed.

 

‘And?’ Derek prompted.

 

‘And not you.’ Stiles murmured, before dropping into unconsciousness.

 

*

 

Derek rearranged the blanket to cover Stiles properly, slid the pizza box into the fridge, and let himself out.

 

He sat in his car for a long time before driving home.

 

*

 

It was two weeks later that Derek next saw Stiles’ address on a receipt, and it prompted an interesting reaction. Part of him was pleased, like always, because somewhere along the line the idea of seeing Stiles had fallen firmly into the column of Good Things in Derek’s mind. Another part of him was full of trepidation. He hadn’t seen Stiles since the night of his break up with Jeremy, since Stiles had said some things that could be seen as revealing, but were confusing at best. Derek had found himself wondering if two weeks was a normal amount of time in between pizzas, or if Stiles was purposely avoiding him. Maybe he’d gone back to the wood-fire place, with the short, blond, not-Derek delivery guy. Now there was a phrase he’d pondered a lot in the last two weeks. ‘Not you.’

 

Derek took a deep, bracing breath and knocked.

 

Scott opened the door, and Derek nodded in greeting. ‘Hi. Pizza for Stiles.’

 

‘Hey Derek, uh,’ Scott rubbed the back of his neck, ‘Stiles isn’t here, that’s actually for me.’

 

Derek blinked. ‘Oh. Sorry.’ He held out the pizza for Scott, who took it but made no move to pay Derek.

 

‘Listen, do you have a minute?’

 

‘I’m working,’ Derek said, because it was true.

 

‘Just one minute,’ he stepped out of the doorway and gestured for Derek to enter. ‘Please?’

 

Derek frowned, unsure. He’d barely spoken two words to Scott _ever_ , but he was Stiles’ friend, so he supposed he should at least hear the guy out. ‘Fine. One minute.’

 

The living room looked the same as the last time Derek had seen it, minus a drunken Stiles sagging on the couch. ‘Have a seat,’ Scott directed, sliding the pizza on to the counter. Derek stayed standing. ‘Okay,’ Scott said slowly when he turned around.

 

‘What can I do for you?’ Derek asked brusquely, trying to move things along.

 

‘Ok, I don’t want to overstep here,’ Scott began, and Derek was immediately suspicious. ‘But Stiles isn’t great at communicating, especially when it comes to important stuff, so,’ he paused and it looked to Derek like he was psyching himself up for something. That didn’t bode well.

 

‘Stiles told me you were here the other night.’

 

It felt like a sharp turn, and it took Derek a second to catch up. ‘I was, a couple of weeks ago.’

 

‘After Jeremy?’

 

‘Yes.’ Derek saw no need to lie.

 

‘You probably noticed, but Stiles wasn’t in the best frame of mind that night. He barely remembers you being there at all, and he’s worried that – he’s _assumed_ that – he said something, or did something, to embarrass himself. In front of you.’

 

Derek’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. ‘He didn’t. He just…he was drunk. Drunk people say weird things. I’m not holding anything against him.’

 

‘Good,’ Scott said, and he looked honestly relieved. ‘But the thing is, he thinks he made you really uncomfortable, or something, and he’s been too embarrassed to order from you guys. I don’t think he’d like the idea of me talking to you about this, but I happen to know he’ll be at home, alone, tomorrow night after six.’ His voice was neutral, but his eyes were expressive, almost pleading.

 

‘Okay,’ Derek said at length, ‘good to know.’

 

‘Great,’ Scott said with a grin. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some cash, slapping it into Derek’s hand. ‘Thanks for hearing me out.’

 

Derek knew he was being dismissed, but he was so damn _confused_. What was this, he wondered as Scott ushered him out of the apartment, what was Scott saying between the lines, and more importantly –

 

‘Why? Why are you telling me this?’

 

Scott looked perplexed at the question. ‘Dude, how many customers do you have that ask your name, or invite you to Halloween parties, or talk about you to their roommates, or drunkenly bitch about their exes to you?’

 

‘Stiles talks to you about me?’ Derek asked, too curious to be embarrassed about the hopeful tone in his voice. Scott just rolled his eyes.

 

‘ _Yes_.’

 

Derek considered and, well, when you laid it all out like that it was kind of obvious.

 

‘Also,’ Scott said as he was closing the door, ‘your pizza sucks.’

 

*

 

Derek considered everything Scott had said as he drove back to the pizzeria. Then he walked inside and ordered a slice of pepperoni pizza. Pia looked at him like he was nuts.

 

‘You’ve never ordered pizza from here. Ever.’

 

‘Humor me,’ Derek grunted. So she did.

 

Derek took his slice of pizza to a table by the window, sat down, and took a bite. His dorm mate back in college used to have a saying: pizza is like getting a blow job; even when it’s bad, it’s still kind of good. Derek considered that as he chewed the lukewarm, too-greasy pizza. The toppings were uneven, so there was only one slice of pepperoni on the whole slice. There was too much tomato paste and not enough cheese. The dough was too dense.

 

Derek felt himself grinning around his food. This pizza _sucked_.

 

*

 

It was ten after seven, and Stiles was at home alone. Scott was on a date with Allison, and made a point of telling Stiles he wouldn’t be coming home. Stiles had made gagging noises, and berated Scott for rubbing his sex life in Stiles’ face. Scott had just laughed and given Stiles in inscrutable look before leaving.

 

So now he was sitting on the sofa with a bouquet of fast-food menus fanned out before him on the coffee table, facing an impossible choice. Chinese? Nah. Indian? Ugh, too heavy. Ethiopian? When the hell did they get _Ethiopian_? Probably Allison and her crazy exotic tastes. Stiles sighed and swept the menus into a pile. What he really wanted was _pizza_ , damn it. But over the last few months pizza had morphed, changed from a simple, delicious foodstuff into some of kind of symbol for his emotional turmoil.

 

It was no longer just cheese and dough and meat and sauce, it was all tied up with the completely irrational crush he had on an insanely hot delivery guy, with Jeremy’s unwarranted possessive streak, with Stiles’ total inability to quit while he was ahead instead of making a drunken ass out of himself. But even with all that regret and confusion, he still just _wanted_.

 

‘I want pizza,’ he said aloud, his voice churlish and childlike, ‘I want pizza, and I want Derek.’

 

The knock on the door startled him so much he nearly fell off the sofa. Regaining his composure, Stiles padded over to the door and peered through the peephole. He pulled back, shook his head, and then peered through again. Taking a step back from the door, he closed his eyes and whispered, ‘I want a million dollars!’

 

Derek knocked again, and Stiles opened his eyes to see he was still sadly lacking a million dollars. So, ruling out some kind of person-conjuring brain-magic, that was actually Derek out there. Stiles floundered for a moment, taking a step towards the door, then towards the living room, then towards his bedroom in a flurry of indecision.

 

‘I can hear you moving around in there.’ Derek’s deep voice was steady, but Stiles thought he sounded just the slightest bit amused. It eased something inside of Stiles’ chest, and he reached out to turn the handle. _Oh god,_ Stiles thought upon seeing Derek, _he’s gotten hotter._

‘Derek, hey. I, uh, I didn’t order a pizza.’

 

‘I know,’ Derek said. Stiles narrowed his eyes. There was something off, here. Something about the way Derek was holding himself, the tone of his voice, the glint in his eyes. His mouth wasn’t set in it’s usual perpetual downward curve, rather his lips were shifting, pursing then going slack, tilting up and then down in minute movements as though he were trying to suppress a smile. Stiles was incredibly suspicious.

 

‘That isn’t even from your pizza place.’ Stiles said, gesturing to the box.

 

‘Yeah, I recently realized that our pizza kind of sucks.’

 

Stiles snorted, ‘understatement.’

 

‘Which got me wondering,’ Derek continued as though Stiles hadn’t spoken, ‘why we’ve managed to retain a repeat customer for _months_. I mean, why the hell would anyone keep spending their money on this crap?’

 

Stiles swallowed. ‘Well it has a certain charm and I – you know, wanted to support local busine –‘

 

‘Stiles,’ Derek interrupted, and Stiles’ mouth snapped closed. ‘Can I come in?’

 

Stiles almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to free up the doorway. ‘Yes, sure, come – come on in.’ Derek walked confidently through the doorway and into the living room. Stiles followed, his mind in turmoil, internal klaxons blaring that _this was not a drill_. But what did it mean? Was he being let down gently? Was he firmly being told to stay away? Or, possibly, maybe, could he be about get f-

 

‘Stiles?’ Derek had set the pizza on the coffee table and was looking at him expectantly.

 

‘Yeah, sorry, I’m just a little confused. You’re here. With pizza that I didn’t order, from a pizza place you don’t work at, and I feel like maybe I’m missing something here.’

 

‘You are, but it’s okay. I was too.’ He stepped away from the coffee table, moving towards Stiles as he spoke. ‘I just needed one little piece put in the puzzle for me, and then the rest made sense. Do you understand?’

 

‘Not really,’ Stiles’ voice wavered as he watched Derek get closer and closer, until he was near enough to touch, if Stiles wanted to. And _damn_ , Stiles wanted to. ‘Wh-what are you doing?’ He asked, fingers toying with the cuffs of his hoodie. His eyes darted to Derek’s and then away again, over his nose, cheeks, stubbled jaw.

 

‘Showing you a puzzle piece,’ Derek answered, and Stiles had barely opened his mouth to say _wow, lame_ when Derek’s lips were against his.

 

And Derek was right, but it was less like solving a puzzle and more like having a light switch on somewhere in Stiles’ brain. A little yellow bulb illuminating a closet-sized room where Stiles had been shoving all his Derek-thoughts, and once he could see them all it was oh-so clear. Because what kind of a pizza delivery guy greets you by name every time, looks quietly pleased to see you, tells you to get some sleep when you look tired, and to leave your collar open for your date because it looks good, and follows you into your apartment to make sure you don’t drink yourself to death?

 

The kind that wants to kiss you.

 

At that thought Stiles went from passively accepting Derek’s kiss to actively participating in it. He surged forward, one hand sliding up the back of Derek’s neck to slide through the soft strands of his hair. The other hand slipped beneath his jacket, feeling the bumps and ridges of Derek’s warm, criminally firm body beneath his shirt.

 

Derek pulled back, just a little, and opened his eyes. They were full of warmth and crinkled at the corners as he looked at Stiles. If Stiles were a betting man, he’d wager his looked pretty much the same. The thought made him smile even wider, which made Derek laugh, low and bright. ‘Get it now?’

 

‘Yeah,’ Stiles said against Derek’s lips, leaning in for another quick kiss. ‘I get it. What I _don’t_ get,’ another kiss, because why not? ‘Is why this took us so damn long.’

 

Derek chuckled again, and Stiles thought he could fall in love with that sound. ‘We’re morons,’ Derek said, with an indulgent smile.

 

Stiles made a sound of agreement into Derek’s mouth. ‘You know what the best part is, though?’

 

‘What’s that?’ Derek asked, his hands stroking down Stiles’ back.

 

‘I can stop eating that god-awful, nasty-ass pizza.’

 

Derek tackled him onto the couch, and Stiles laughed until he couldn’t breathe.

 

They let the pizza go cold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tadah! Thanks for reading :D I'm on tumbr at scottmotherfuckinmccall.tumblr.com (fuckin', no 'g'), so come say hi!


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